


Ghost Stories

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [57]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Poe takes Kylo out for a trip down memory lane.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isaac2Pace (Misty_Endings)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Endings/gifts).



“What… Poe… wait, what are you doing?”  


“Just… trust me?”  


Kylo does. He trusts Poe with his very heart and soul. But he has that _look_ in his eyes, the one that says _devilment_ , and Kylo wants to know what the hell he has planned.

(He could, of course, ‘look’. But that’s cheating, and he doesn’t do that. Some things are sacrosanct in a relationship, and secrets are one of them. For whatever reason they’re a secret.)

So he nods, and lets Poe wind the silk scarf around his eyes. He can still feel plenty with the Force, and it’s more the principle of the thing than anything else. He doesn’t know if Poe is planning on some new sex toy, or… nope.

Pulling him by the hand back outside. Kylo tries not to stagger as he’s guided out, and then one of his ankles is grabbed and lifted slowly, placed onto something flat and wobbly, and he can hear the low rumble of an idling speederbike. 

“Hold on to the saddle. I’ll get on, then you get on behind me.”  


“Poe…”  


“Shh. It’s fun.”  


Kylo waits until the all clear is sounded, then climbs awkwardly on behind. He slides his arms around Poe’s waist, and drops his head onto his shoulder. They should probably wear helmets, but… Poe kicks the bike to life, and starts haring off at a breakneck speed.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” he asks, with no worry in his voice, only amusement.   


“Trying to get your pulse racing, babe.”  


It’s working. Without his vision, he has to rely upon his other senses: the vibrations between his thighs, the wind whipping at his hair, the feel of Poe’s breathing under his hands. They used to do this more often, when they were young. Used to escape away on a bike that was - well - not _entirely_ free for their use.

It came back in one piece at the end of the day, though.

Trees snatch at them, whispering secrets as they hurtle through, and Kylo kisses a tiny thank you behind Poe’s ear, revelling in the sheer adrenaline of bank and turn, bank and swerve. He’s never been keen on the controls in his own hands, but perfectly fine with being flown. Especially by Poe.

When the bike finally skitters to a halt, Poe turns around (with no small amount of dexterity) to face him. Kylo holds onto the back of the saddle as the blindfold is pushed up, and he grins into the stolen kiss.

“What’s all this in aid of?”  


“Nothing, much. Just wanted to run away with you. Like the good old days.”  


When they’d been innocent, and the worst thing that could happen to them was being scolded for running away with Kes’ bike.

A few more kisses, and then Kylo watches Poe bounce off the bike, and go into the saddlebags. While he’s working, the Knight slings his leg over to sit side-saddle, looking out at the vista.

D’Qar isn’t Yavin IV, but there’s a nice little stream here, bubbling away between the trees. The canopy overhead casts everything in a vibrant, glowing green, and the scent of fresh, unadultered air makes his nose tingle.

Poe cocks his head, and spreads out a blanket with a flourish. He’s got a picnic basket ready, and Kylo laughs when all their favourite foods come out: orange and blue sodas, tiny little finger bite sandwiches, five different chips, a block of cheese and a real knife instead of a plasteel one, and little cold pizza swirls that are so not good for them but taste like they should be. 

“I couldn’t get the loaf shaped like our hero,” Poe bemoans. “I tried to make one, but it kind of just came out looking like a sad Wompa…”  


“It will still taste fine,” Kylo insists.   


“I thought… we could camp here? I could pull out a tarp from the bike, and put down some bedrolls. And we can tell one another dumb, spooky stories over a campfire?”  


“That sounds… wonderful. As long as you don’t make them too scary.”  


Poe snorts, and kisses him on the nose. “Absolutely. I know you’re a delicate little boy.”

A roll of his eyes, and he slaps at Poe’s knee. “You’ll save me, won’t you?”

“Always, Ky. Always.”  


***

There’s way too much food, but that doesn’t matter. They seal the rest up in the boxes, pack them away for later. Kylo leans against the bike, Poe against his arm, and they watch the stream sparkle past with no hurry in the world.

“Was there really no reason?”  


“No… I just… well. Maybe.”  


Kylo waits.

“I just wanted to do something we used to do, you know?”  


He finds Poe’s hand with his, pulls it over to rest on his belly. His fingers stroke along the lines of his palm, following superstition and genetics. The folds of function, the lines of fate.

“It wasn’t always bad.”  


“I know,” Kylo agrees. “But mostly because of you.”  


Poe’s hand grabs his, holds firmly, then lets go. “You still got me.”

Kylo has nothing much to say, so he snuggles in tighter to him. This is nice. Very nice. “Let’s do this again.”

His pilot smirks, and looks up. “Fire, now? And stories?”

“Only if you hold me in case I’m afraid.” He never really was, not by Poe’s stories.   


At least tall tales are the only real monsters left, now. He can enjoy the fictions because there’s nothing worse lurking in the dark.


End file.
